


I Can't Remember to Forget You

by allourheroes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Full Moon, Kidnapping, M/M, Mates, Minor Violence, Sexual Content, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale’s Anchor, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: Stiles wakes up trapped in a cell with a werewolf trying to strangle him. He should probably be more concerned than he is.





	I Can't Remember to Forget You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InnerCinema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/gifts).



> [for this meme](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/post/177417558384/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short) | [originally on tumblr](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/post/177844155764/hi-if-you-dont-mind-id-love-to-request-sterek)
>
>> **18\. waking up with amnesia au**
> 
> Naming this took far too long...which is why I ended up with the title of a Shakira and Rihanna song. :) 

Stiles wakes up to a hand around his throat. He flails instinctively before grabbing the wrist, trying to focus on who’s in the middle of killing him.

If the situation weren’t so horribly murderous, finding an unbelievably attractive shirtless man straddling him would be yielding a much different response from his body.

“Who are you?” the guy says. “What did you do to me?”

He doesn’t give Stiles room to move, but when Stiles starts making choking sounds, he lets up the grip on his neck enough that Stiles can speak.

“Me?” Stiles says, sputtering. Then, he frowns. “Stiles?”

“Stiles?” the guy repeats, confused.

Stiles blinks, considers it. “Yeah, I think that’s me. Sounds familiar.”

Something passes through the other man’s eyes and his hold loosens just a little in surprise. “What kind of name is Stiles?”

And Stiles stares at him, mouth open, for a good ten seconds before he says, “I have no idea.”

The guy releases him then, backs up and off and Stiles is just a tiny bit sad at the loss of contact, although he has no idea why as he rubs at his throat.

Stiles pushes himself to sit up and finds a concrete wall to press his back to. “Sheesh,” he murmurs, “no expense spared on this homicidal vacation, huh?”

They sit there in silence before the guy clears his throat. “Derek.”

Stiles’s eyebrows shoot up, lips pursing. “You— You’re Derek? Okay.” He pats down his body, searching for a phone, a wallet, anything. Unsurprisingly, he finds nothing. He’s guessing Derek doesn’t have anything either. After all, the guy doesn’t even have a shirt.

“Where the hell are we?” Derek asks, and he’s pacing around their…cell? Yeah, that seems a good descriptor, Stiles thinks. Derek is lifting his head like he’s going to be able to hear something. Or maybe smell something? It reminds Stiles a bit of watching a dog.

“Think I know?” Stiles scoffs. “I woke up to you strangling me. If anything, I know less than you do.”

Derek looks at him, unimpressed. He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows like he’s waiting for Stiles to do something more useful.

Stiles has no idea why this Derek guy thinks he’ll be able to do anything, but he says, “Let’s start with what we know.” And Stiles sounds strangely professional, like he does things like this all the time. “Maybe about ourselves, see if we can find a connection.”

“You first,” Derek says, his eyebrows far too demanding as he sits on the ground across from Stiles.

“Alright,” Stiles says. “Um. My name is Stiles.” He looks down at himself. “I’m…wearing more clothes than you. I’m…” What else can he say? What else does he know? “Human? I don’t know.”

“I’m not—” Derek starts. He stops himself, looking supremely uncomfortable. Like he’d nearly just given away his last, most precious secret to a total stranger.

“You’re not what?” Stiles asks and huffs as Derek glares at him instead of answering. “I think we’ve gotta be up front here, pal. Because whatever happened, it happened to both of us.” He gestures around to the slate grey that meets them in all directions.

Derek’s nostrils flare, his jaw tenses. For a moment, Stiles thinks he still isn’t going to be helpful until finally, like it pains him, he says, “I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles stares at him for a second, processing the information, then nods. “Alright. So a human and a werewolf trapped in an eight by eight prison with one blocked out window and a door that I don’t even have to _try_ to know that it’s definitely not about to open with our captors shouting ‘surprise!’ and throwing us a party.”

“How are you sure you’re human?” Derek asks, and he’s got this weird uncertainty vibe going on that Stiles doesn’t quite get.

He shrugs. “Feels right. How do you know you’re a werewolf?” he returns.

“Born one,” he says, he swallows like there’s something itching at him. Several somethings.

“Huh.” Stiles watches Derek think for a moment before he starts, “If you’re a werewolf, shouldn’t you be able to, like, sense things with your wolfy senses?”

An abortive nod, another flare of nostrils. “Something’s blocking them. Everything is…dull. When I woke up, I thought it was shock, but I still don’t—” He huffs, clenches his fists.

Derek is all bottled anger and frustration and Stiles feels like he’s watching a wild animal that’s been trapped, the tight reactions almost inhuman. “I’m guessing you like being in a cage about as much as I do.”

Derek ignores the comment, fingertips grazing the walls, the door. “We’re surrounded by mountain ash.”

“I’m guessing that means something?”

“It means even if I could break that door down, I couldn’t go anywhere.”

“Like a supernatural barrier,” Stiles translates.

Derek looks a bit surprised at how fast he’s gotten it before he nods.

“Okay.” Stiles assesses the room again. “Then we’ll find another way.”

Derek looks at him long and hard, confusion brewing behind eyes a color that Stiles can’t quite name. “You’re trapped in a cell with a werewolf and no memories. Shouldn’t you be freaking out?”

“Yes,” Stiles agrees. “I definitely should be. But it feels kinda pointless when freaking out isn’t going to get me out of this.” What Derek said before hits him. “Wait. You remember mountain ash? What else do you remember?”

After a moment of hesitation, Derek shakes his head. “It’s like something triggered my brain to remember that but I still don’t remember my family or pack or—” He stops. “There’s a weight on my chest, guilt, but I don’t know what I did.”

It’s the most open he’s been with Stiles, and Stiles regrets the words that come out of his mouth next. “Maybe we deserve this. Maybe we’re being punished.”

“Oh, yeah?” Derek asks wryly. “What did you do?”

Stiles shrugs. “No idea.”

“A better explanation is that hunters brought me here to torture or kill me because of what I am.” Stiles scowls, but Derek continues. “And for some reason they grabbed you, too.”

It’s as good an explanation as any, although it doesn’t get them any closer to finding a way out. “Hunters,” Stiles repeats. “Hunters. Mountain ash. Werewolf.” He nods his head, like he gets it. Or, at least, he’s starting to formulate _something_ about their situation.

Derek stops pacing, sliding down to sit across from Stiles. There’s not a ton of space, especially since they’re both leaning on the tall side. Only a couple of feet separate them.

Stiles doesn’t even know Derek and yet the thought of some assholes capturing and killing him just because he’s a werewolf enrages him in a way he can’t describe. “Hey,” he says. “We’ll get you out. And me. We’ll get me out, too. We’ll get out of this.” He scrubs a hand over his head.

It looks like Derek doesn’t know what to make of Stiles’s perhaps unbackable assurance, but he doesn’t seem as angry.

There’s a chill, not that there’s any indication of the time, but Stiles realizes it’s been a while since they woke up here. Wherever here is. He pulls off his jacket and offers it to Derek with a simple, “Here.” Derek is built, which is hard to ignore with his muscles on full display this whole time, but Stiles has broad shoulders and it’s not like he’s _small_ , so he thinks it’ll fit and he’s right.

Derek may look ridiculous in his red hoodie, but at least he’ll get to be covered. And warmer, although that doesn’t seem to concern him. The sweatshirt makes him look soft in a way that makes Stiles’s breath stutter, like Derek is younger and more vulnerable than he had seemed.

Stiles stands and stretches, his limbs locking up, making him want to shake himself out. He turns away from Derek to stare at the window—what _must_ be a window—to busy his mind until he’s over his weird feelings again. Every once in a while, this intrusive weed of a thought tells him he likes Derek even though he barely knows the guy. It’s confusing, to say the least, but Stiles isn’t too shocked to find himself attracted to a hot guy he’s been trapped with. He reaches up, just to see how close he can get to the window, then drops his hand and pulls his shirt back down.

“Hold on,” Derek says, because Stiles doesn’t see what’s peeking out from under his shirt, something the sweatshirt had hidden. He can see Derek approaching in his periphery, then there’s a light touch the nape of his neck that makes him shiver. “Can I?” Stiles gives a minute nod and Derek tugs down the collar of Stiles’s t-shirt in the back. And then Derek makes a strange sound until he traps it, holding his breath. He clears his throat. “You’re marked.”

“What the—” Stiles turns in a circle like he’ll better be able to see his own back. “What? What does that mean? That sounds _unnecessarily_ ominous. I’m what? Marked for death or something?”

Derek shakes his head ever-so-slightly. “It means your mate marked you. Congratulations, you’re basically married,” and the word stutters past his lips, “to an alpha.”

“An alpha?” Stiles repeats uncomprehendingly. “An alpha— An alpha _werewolf_?”

“No wonder you weren’t shocked when you found out about me.” He swallows, takes a step away. Another.

Stiles narrows his eyes. Derek is acting shifty now, quiet and uncertain in a way he wasn’t before. “What are you doing?”

“You’re an alpha’s mate,” Derek says, his voice tight. “I have to be respectful.” There’s something beneath the surface, something about the way he sounds unhappy about what he’s saying that Stiles wants to understand.

“But— But what if…” And the gears are turning. “What if _you_.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrow and Stiles flails trying to piece together a real sentence in the now jumbled mess that is his brain.

“What if it’s you?”

Before the possible revelation can go any further, there’s a metallic click and that one window high up on the wall falls open, as if someone on the outside has lowered a shutter. Light streams into their dark cell and it takes Stiles a moment to process what it means.

It doesn’t take Derek that long. “The full moon.” He crouches down, presses his forehead to the cool concrete of the wall.

“Whoa.” And Stiles starts towards him, then freezes in place, his hands up like he wants to touch but doesn’t know if he should. “Are you okay? What— What does that mean for you?”

Derek is breathing hard and Stiles can see his hands shake, his fingers turning to claws. “I just need to find my anchor,” he manages.

“Anchor?” Stiles says. He crouches in close, even if it’s inadvisable. He knows Derek is in pain, can feel the tension rolling off of him. “What’s your anchor?” No response. “Come on, Derek. Let’s find that anchor.” He has no idea what it means, but it sounds important. Hesitantly, his hand finds Derek’s hoodie-clad shoulder. He keeps his touch light, ready to pull back if he needs to. “It’s okay,” he says, because it seems the thing to say. “Just think. Or feel. Or sense. Or whatever it is you do. Um.” He swallows. “What’s your anchor?”

“It was anger, not that I remember why.” Derek isn’t pulling away, but his whole body is straining not to move or react. Talking is a struggle. “But it’s not working. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like— like there’s a hole there, in my mind. My wolf keeps telling me there’s someone, but I can’t… I can’t see who it is. If I could at least use my senses—” He stops talking, his shoulders are quaking and Stiles is suddenly aware that Derek is losing control and Stiles is the only one there with him.

“Derek?”

“Get back!” And it comes out a command, a growl. Something inhuman reverberates through it that makes Stiles want to instinctually do as it says, to go into the other corner and cower since there’s nowhere to run.

But Stiles somehow knows it’s not in him to run now, not with this. He thinks it should be, but instead, after falling off-balance onto his haunches, his hand leaving Derek’s shoulder to catch himself, he doesn’t move away. He shifts himself upright, ready to skitter off if he needs to because he’s still not stupid. “Derek, you don’t want to hurt me. You don’t even—” He breaks off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “This is what they want, isn’t it?” he starts again, quieter. “They want you to lose control so they can call you a monster. I don’t really— I know we’ve only known each other a little while, but I don’t think you’re a monster.”

When Derek speaks, it’s through too many teeth. “My anchor.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, fists shaking, before he turns a hard gaze on Derek. “Can you pretend it’s me? Just for right now. I’m your anchor. And I’m telling you that you don’t want to do this.”

Derek shakes his head. “My anchor is my…” His hands claw at the walls, leaving long scratches in the concrete.

“Your what?” Stiles urges. “Work with me here. You can do this. Your anchor is your…?”

Face turned enough that Stiles can see his expression, his furrowed brow. His red eyes. “My mate. But I don’t have—” He grunts, sharp claws closing in, causing his palm to bleed for his efforts.

And Stiles really is the king of horrible ideas. He knows it down to his core, but it doesn’t stop him. “If you can’t use your other senses, how can you recognize your mate? Touch or— or… You said I had a bite, right?” Derek lets out a low growl and Stiles hopes against hope it’s for the reason that he thinks it is. “Could you, like, put your teeth on it or something? See if they fit?” He gestures wildly, another ill-advised action next to a barely-restrained werewolf.

Stiles then does the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life, that he can remember: He takes off his shirt and turns his back on a feral werewolf. Showing a complete lack of survival instinct, he’s pretty sure.

If he dies now, he probably deserves it.

“Is this yours?” he asks, and his voice is shaking. He tries to even it out. Sounding like prey is an even worse idea than he’s already come up with. He thinks about instincts, about protection. “Am— Am I yours?” The thought doesn’t unnerve him as much as it should and he thinks he can see movement behind him. His breathing stutters as he feels the warmth of Derek’s body close in and a cold sweat breaks out across his body, goosebumps springing up his neck and shoulders as Derek’s breath ghosts over him.

But Derek just stays there. Breathing. Something about this is helping, so Stiles gives himself that, at least. “I don’t know,” Derek murmurs. “I’d have to bite because I can’t— Everything is too unfocused. I can’t sense anything.”

Stiles turns his head to look back. If this doesn’t work… “Then bite.”

Derek’s claws scratch lightly over the mark. “If this is someone else’s claim.”

“But what if it’s not?” He sucks in a gasp, panic prickling at him. “Even if you don’t kill me, I doubt I’ll be allowed to live. So it’s worth a shot.” Derek is still touching him, sending electric currents rippling through his body, his brain. “The longer we’ve been here, the more I think that I know you. I don’t have extra senses to go by, just— just a gut feeling. That you won’t hurt me.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says, but it makes Stiles laugh.

Until Derek puts his teeth to the mark, breathes, then bites.

And Stiles knows it’s right. He knows it’s right because he feels the bond clearly, because he can remember. Not everything, not now, but enough. “Derek,” but his voice is thick and Derek is still biting him and then, “ _Derek_.” Clearer. Familiar. Like he’s said it a million times because he has, that much has returned to him.

Derek lets him go, but he reels back and Stiles is on him, touching his face, cupping his jaw.

“Derek, it’s me. It’s gonna be okay. You and me, we get through things like this all the time.” He’s babbling, but it doesn’t matter. He crawls into Derek’s lap to hold onto him better, straddling him. “Is it what they did to you?” He glances up at the moon, face twitching in anger, but not with Derek or the moon. With the hunters who had to have done this. He’s going to kill them himself when they get out. “Der.” Derek’s eyes are bright and wild and he’s scared and Stiles knows a few tricks for changing triggered bloodlust to something else. He kisses Derek, uncaring of the fangs, that he tastes his own blood and doesn’t know if it’s just from the bite or if he’s cut his lip or what.

Derek responds, pawing at Stiles's sides, his waist and hips as he surges up against him.

“Come on,” Stiles murmurs. “We can’t do much, but—” He grinds down, making Derek whine. “See? We can fix this, Derek. Me and you. Me and you.” He says variants of it like a mantra. He’s achingly hard and he’s aware that his libido shouldn’t react to danger like this, but he can’t help it. Danger and Derek all wrapped up in a neat little package. Or, rather, a not-so-little package he can feel rutting against the inside of his thigh, even through his jeans and Derek’s.

“Stiles,” Derek says, and he’s gripping Stiles’s hips too hard but that’s okay.

“Fuck.” Stiles shifts. “Fuck it, okay? Fuck it.” And he’s talking to himself. He bites at Derek’s stubble, fingers scraping down from Derek’s neck, pushing his sweatshirt out of the way so he can travel smoothly over chest and stomach. He wriggles around as he paws at the button of Derek’s jeans until he pops it, yanking open the zipper. He pulls his hand back only to spit into his palm before he’s grasping Derek’s length and letting out a groan of his own as Derek bucks up into it.

Derek’s claws have probably left marks but Derek is arching into his grasp, flattening his hand big and warm over the small of Stiles’s back. “Fuck,” Derek echoes.

Stiles curves over him to kiss him again, certain this time that the blood is fresh as his lip stings and starts to swell. “That’s it, big guy,” he mutters into Derek’s lips. Stiles’s hips are moving of their own accord, seeking friction from the too-rough denim of his jeans. “We’re gonna ride this out.” He bites his lip and tastes the blood, feels the pain, but the sharpness of it recedes as he watches a half-shifted Derek struggle and writhe as Stiles’s hand jerks him.

Derek does something then, rolls his hips just so and Stiles’s hand stutters as the rest of his body overloads and his orgasm hits him, leaving him oversensitive, but Derek must approve.

Derek comes only a few seconds later, despite the drop in vigor, spilling between them.

Draping himself over Derek completely despite the sticky mess, Stiles huffs into Derek’s neck. “Feeling better?” Derek nods, stubble catching on his hair. “Good.”

“I still don’t remember everything,” he murmurs. “And my senses…”

“I’m guessing it’ll wear off,” Stiles says with a tired sigh. “I think they’d want you to know what you’d done when it was all over.”

“I’m lucky my mate has no self-preservation instincts,” Derek chides.

Stiles snorts. “Are you complaining about how my deep, unfaltering love saved us?”

Derek’s hand travels up Stiles’s, fingers the mating bite. “You know we’re still locked up with no way out, right?”

“They’ll have to come eventually. No cameras.” Stiles pushes himself up enough to look at Derek’s face. He traces a cheekbone, the curve of Derek’s jaw. “You’re just gonna have to kill me.”

“What?” Derek jerks away from the touch, his eyes taking on that worried look that he has far too often.

Stiles shakes his head, grinning. “Not for real. We just have to make it look that way.”

“And how are going to do that?” Derek asks with a raised eyebrow, but he knows Stiles has already figured it out.

Stiles goes through the plan slowly, keeping his voice down. He and Derek argue over some of the finer points, but eventually everything is set.

It’s a while before anyone comes, but Stiles expected they’d have to wait until morning. The sun shines into their cell now, illuminating the evidence that they're not the first people to have been held here.

The door opens outward so the two hunters don’t have to pass the line of ash that will keep Derek in.

Stiles can’t see them, but he hears their scuffing of their boots. He keeps his face turned away, but he knows they can see his shredded hoodie flung across the cell, claw marks through the back of his shirt where dried and drying blood stains through and sticks it to his body. The mark on the back of his neck, the only thing that can be considered a major wound that’s actually _real_ , is covered. It’s private.

A woman’s laughter breaks through and Stiles knows it isn’t Kate, but his skin still crawls. “You killed him,” and she’s trying to sound like she’s not pleased as punch.

Derek snarls from where Stiles knows he’s hunched in the corner. “He trusted me. Why would you do this? He was _human_.” And he makes a wounded sound that makes Stiles hate even pretending to be dead, pretending that Derek had been the one to hurt him after all that Derek’s been through, hazy as some of his memories still are despite the alpha bite.

The woman steps closer and so does her partner. “He was a _sympathizer_ ,” she spits. “He whored himself out to a werewolf and he got what was coming. You gave it to him.” She’s edging towards Derek and Stiles is certain she has a weapon, although he’s not sure what. “You not only killed a human, you killed your _mate_. How fucked up is that? From what I’ve heard, death will be a mercy for you now, not that I’m particularly fond of mercy.”

Her partner moves around the cell and Stiles catches a glimpse of booted ankles before he makes sure that he’s not being obviously not dead.

“He trusted me,” Derek says again, and it’s too much for Stiles.

The opportunity comes and he trips the partner and launches himself in the first hunter's direction. He might’ve missed were the space any bigger, but his intuition holds true.

“ _Stiles_.” And Derek sounds hurt but Stiles quickly realizes it’s because _he’s_ hurt. He had managed to tackle the hunter, sure, but not without sustaining collateral damage.

Luckily, she’s only holding a knife and it’s a slice, not a stab. He’s had worse. He wrestles with her as Derek goes to her partner as he hops up.

Derek knocks the gun from the guy’s hand and Stiles sees it from his peripheral vision. He’s pushing the woman against the wall, but she’s strong and hunters aren’t afraid to fight dirty. He has about three inches of height on her and he uses it to his advantage, even as she manages to flip the knife and he can feel the sharp tip against his abdomen.

“I thought you had a code,” he grits out.

“No code should protect someone who goes against their own kind.” The knife is pressing in farther.

Stiles actually laughs. “You’re one to talk.”

She roars as she drives forward and Stiles stumbles back, brain processing dimly, _I’m about to get stabbed._

But then Derek drags her off of him. For some reason, she looks shocked as Derek’s alpha reds glow and he drives her hand holding the knife into her gut. “You hurt him. I hurt you.” He lets her slide to the ground, clutching the place where the knife juts out of her.

It’s probably not a fatal stab wound, Stiles notes with a hint of disappointment. He glances down to see the other hunter knocked out flat.

“We should probably kill them,” he says.

Derek shoots him a glare. “I thought we were trying _not_ to kill people.”

Stiles squints at Derek. “I can’t believe the words coming out of your beautiful mouth.” He breaks the line of ash with a wave of his hand and nods toward the exit.

He still thinks they shouldn’t be leaving the hunters alive, but he lets it be. He places a call to the authorities after they find their stuff in an SUV parked in front of the building. There are a few other creepy little prison cells, but they’re thankfully empty.

“How’s your head?” Stiles asks, gesturing. Derek has just bandaged Stiles's side with the meager supplies they'd found in the building.

“Still foggy, but I think things are getting better. When she cut you in there, I could smell your blood. Still can.” He shifts uncomfortably.

“There are probably a lot of things you can smell now, huh?” Stiles asks, thinking of Derek under him with a little smirk.

Derek huffs a long-suffering sigh. “I could’ve torn you apart,” he growls, but Stiles doesn’t cow. “But to show me the claim, to offer it.” He shakes his head. “That was the smartest and stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“No,” and Stiles is grinning wide in that way that tells Derek he’s about to make him mad, “You’re the smartest and stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I want to punch you,” Derek says.

“But you won’t.” Stiles slides his arms around Derek’s waist, again shirtless since they destroyed his hoodie. “Because you love me.”

Derek returns the gesture, wrapping himself around Stiles. “And you love me, too.” He kisses Stiles then, slow and content. “Idiot.”

About an hour later, after they’ve found the Jeep and have headed home, they remember the fight they were having before the hunters kidnapped them and nearly crash. They blame the leftover adrenaline and Derek demands that they stop to sort everything out.

“I missed fighting with you,” Stiles murmurs as they make up in the backseat on the side of the road. They’re on the edge of town and the sense of safety has started to slip around them.

Derek’s smile is soft. “I missed knowing you.”

Stiles makes a disgusted noise and whacks him on the chest. “You’re such a sap.”

But he loves it, and he shows Derek just how much.

…Until a police cruiser drives past them and Stiles has to pretend they _weren’t_ breaking any laws of common decency.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow/prompt me over on [my tumblr](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com) and/or comment here, in exchange for my undying love. ♥


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